Ford sighs, shaking his head. “Don’t you see? Kenzie only wants Asher because he was yours. Her entire life has revolved around competing with you, Harper.”
“That’s not true. We were great friends once,” I insist, but doubt creeps in. This isn’t the direction I expected our conversation to take. I had hoped for another kiss now that we’re at my house, away from the bustling town.
“Who won prom queen?” he asks.
I shrug. “It’s not like I campaigned for it.”
“No, but Kenzie did. And what about homecoming queen?”
“I didn’t nominate myself.”
He laughs, rubbing his thumb over the top of my mitten. “No, but Kenzie did. You were nominated by others.”
“She can’t really think that’s my fault, can she?” Even as I say it, I know it sounds absurd. Of course, she blames me.
“And what about your sixteenth birthday party? It was a huge bash. Almost everyone from school showed up.”
I frown. “What about it?”
“Kenzie’s birthday was two weeks earlier, and hardly anyone came.”
I know he’s mistaken. “That’s because she wanted something intimate with just her friends. She told us that when we arrived for the sleepover.”
“No, she invited the whole school, and no one showed up. That’s her own doing because she always acted superior. But in her mind, it’s another slight against you.”
“That’s kind of sad, actually.”
He lifts his hand to cup my face. “And that’s why everyone likes you and not her. Kenzie competes with you out of insecurity. Now that she has something she took from you, she believes she’s truly the queen.”
“And what? Asher’s the king?”
It’s a wild thought. Asher is far from king material, and I’m relieved I recognized that before I committed myself to him for life.
Ford chuckles. “I suppose so. Or maybe he’s just the prize. The crown.”
“She can have it,” I reply.
“Let’s get you inside.”
He rushes to open my door, helping me step out. The snow-covered ground is slick beneath my feet, and I begin to slip. Instinctively, I grab onto Ford, and soon we’re tumbling together.
He twists, landing flat on his back in the yard while I land on top of him. I freeze, wide-eyed, as he holds me close, worried I might have hurt him.
“Oh my God, Ford, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
The world around us is quiet, the evening illuminated by falling snow and twinkling Christmas lights. It feels surprisingly romantic.
“I’m fine. Are you okay?” Ford asks, his hand finding my face again.
“Me? You broke my fall.”
“Yeah, that was kind of the plan, baby,” he smirks. “I can handle a lot.”
His eyes catch the Christmas lights, turning them into constellations. He caught me. He actually caught me. My mittens press against his chest as I lower my face to his, our breath clouding between us before disappearing as our lips meet.
His mouth is soft, then hungry. One strong hand slides up my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. The wool of his coat scratches my palms through my mittens as I press closer, tasting bitter coffee and sweet cider on his tongue. Snow melts against my knees, seeping through my jeans, but I barely notice the cold with his warmth beneath me.
The sudden flood of yellow light makes me gasp. My knee jerks up instinctively as I twist toward the house. Ford’s sharp intake of breath turns into a strangled “Hnnngh” as his hands fly from my hair to between his legs, his face contorting.
